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Friday, June 29, 2012

DISSONANCE (The Runaway IV)

IN SECONDS, THE MUSICIANS WERE IN TUNE, in synchronicity. Josh listened to the
others, adjusting as they changed, and the song became a cohesive whole. When
they finished the song, Nik called out “Summer” and they moved into the song
Josh wrote three weeks ago, a slower, sweeter song that Nik sang solo. When
Josh looked up, Mr. Sheridan stood by the basement door, framed by light
filtering down from the front hallway. He was still in red tie and a black suit
jacket, and wore a frown Josh could see even in the dim of the basement.

The
song wound down. Nik’s mouth hardened when he looked towards the door. He cut
the ending three measures before the keyboard ended.

“What?”
he said to his father.

“Josh
needs to go home now,” his father said.

“Why?
Is something wrong?”

“He
just does.”

“What
about Vee?” Gemma said.

“Vee
is welcome to stay,” Mr. Sheridan said. “Josh, please get your things, all of
them, and go. You are not to come—”

“Why
Vee and not Josh?” Nik said.

“Things
at church,” Mr. Sheridan said. “You know—”

“What
the fuck are you talking about?” Nik said.

“Don’t
use that language with me, young man.”

“Don’t
tell me what to do,” Nik said.

His hands
wrapped around the microphone. Josh was afraid he would fling it at his father,
he was afraid instruments and bones would break, so he quickly rested his
guitar in its case and locked it. He picked it up by the handle.

“Until
you pay the bills around here, what I say goes,” said Mr. Sheridan. “Help your
friend.”

“That’s
okay,” Josh said. “I have everything.”

He
slung his backpack over his shoulder. Gemma and Vee watched him with big eyes. Nik stepped toward him.
Josh raised his hand, to stop him.

“I’m
okay, Nik,” he said again. “I figured this might happen.”

Josh wanted
to cry, he didn’t understand why adult disagreements had to spill over into his
life, his friends’ lives, it all seemed to stupid and needless, but Nik had the
dark look in his eyes when he got angry, the same look he had when he threw a
fifty pound amp into the orchestra pit when the teacher cut Nik from band practice
for showing up late, and the time Nik slid a cafeteria tray across the table
with such force it left a foot long gouge in the wall.

Josh
approached the door. Mr. Sheridan didn’t move, didn’t say a word. Josh squeezed
by. At the top of the stairwell, the kitchen blazed in yellow incandescence
because daylight savings had not started and night fell with vengeance. Mrs. Sheridan
hummed from the kitchen, a bit too loud and happy. He couldn’t place the name of
the song, something ridiculous from the seventies. She looked up at Josh and
stopped humming but didn’t say anything, just smiled that smile he’d seen in
church. She turned to the sink, humming again. Josh didn’t say good night or
good-bye, just let himself out the door.

Behind the
closed front door, Josh heard Nikko’s mumbled yell, “Fuck you” and his father’s
reply to get upstairs, get to his room. By the time Josh got to the end of the
short drive way, the small house trembled from music played so loud he could
not make out the song, only felt the incessant pounding of the lower register
of the keyboard, the scratch of electrified guitars.

The
clouds opened. Rain pounded from the sky. Josh began to run, backpack thumping
hard on his spine, stumbling over his guitar, grateful for rain to hide his
tears.

***

The fourth installment of long story under construction. To read the rest, go HERE. As always, thank you for reading my work. Peace...

A nerve on fire...

Where I Hang

About Me...

By day, I'm an uptight and proper academic - you know, a publish or perish type who resides in tall towers with the likes of Rapunzul. In the evening, I morph into a lovable mom and wife, play with my children, hang with the hubby.
But when darkness falls and the house stills, I write.